


King Harry I

by KingHarryI



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, King Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingHarryI/pseuds/KingHarryI
Summary: Amidst the shocked yells and exclamations, a clear voice, projected by a Sonorus Charm, proudly proclaimed "All hail, His Grace Harry I, King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and all His other Realms Known and Unknown, Defender of Avalon, Conduit of Magic, Defender of the Faith, Head of the Commonealth."





	1. Prologue

_“Kings are the slaves of history”—Leo Tolstoy_

_Camelot 994_

Rain poured from the sky with a determination, beating down on the earth with a ferocity. The winds roared in concert with the storm, the dark clouds hanging above casting a heavy cloud over the forest of England. Roving hills expanded across the horizon, hidden behind wind sheers so dense it looked as if Arthur were surrounded by a dome of air.

Arthur, son of Uther, of the House Pendragon, Magical King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and all other Magical Realms Known and Unknown, stood on the at the top of Castle Camelot. Its large towers, built sturdy and strong, touched the clouds. Sheets of rain battered against the walls, but still, they stood, a testament to the work and magic was crafted into each stone by the works of masterful craftsmen and magicians. Arthur remembered when, as a young man, he would watch these masters through the cracks in the doorways. When he had no teaching, no gold, no respect from anyone around him. All he had was his wits, his mind, and his heart. He learned through each crack in the door different skills to help him survive. Until he pulled the Sword, His Sword, out of the Stone, each of those lessons had been seared into his brain. Standing on the pinnacle of his achievement, King Arthur remembered his youth.

The castle had taken nigh ten years to complete. Arthur, early on in his reign, had recognized the need to lay the foundation for His Authority and Rule. He needed to show the people of the world a clear and defined stronghold for Magic to reside and remain stable. He collected master craftsman, both magical and mundane, and paid their works through gold and titles.

Magicians followed the magical signature of his counselor and advisor, Merlin Emrys. He acted as a beacon of light and power, sustaining the poorer magical cores of those around him, and illuminating their potential. Magic blessed Merlin with a tremendously large magical core, but also provided a curse of destiny upon him. Merlin could not seek power over others but instead had to aid those in power, specifically the life of Arthur Pendragon. Merlin did not see this destiny as evil or ill-informed, however. He once shared to Arthur, drunk over a night of ales and spirits, deep in his cups for the first time since their youth, that Arthur was his first and only true friend and it was because of that friendship that the only ruler Merlin would ever serve would Arthur.

 To this day, Merlin denies this conversation, but Arthur would never forget the unwavering light shining in Merlin’s emerald irises, nor the vow spoken, “The only true King of Albion, of the Magical World in general, Arthur, is you. Magic chose you as her Conduit and Voice in Earth, and as the years have gone by I’ve seen it every day. Arthur, you shouldn’t doubt yourself, because know that I will always believe in you.”

A loud noise broke Arthur from his thoughts, as thunder broke across the sky and lighting streaked across the clouds as a fish swims in a stream. The sound reverberated across the countryside surrounding the castle until it hit the forest and the trees were bent down. They sprung back upward a moment later, battered but undestroyed.

“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, what has you so troubled?”

Surprised, Arthur turned to the guard posted at the door to the top of the parapet. Among many things, having guards around him always was an aspect of ruling Arthur would never be comfortable with. This one, newly learned in both the arts of Magic and Sword, would not yet learn the unspoken rule of silence when guarding the King. Arthur held out his hand, palm facing downward. Embarrassed, the guard snuck forward, bent at the knee, and quickly pressed his lips to Arthur’s hand. Head bent forward, he spoke, “Forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty. I know not what I speak of.”

Arthur, however, wanted to hear more from this guard. “What is your name, Sir? We would like to know to whom We speak.”

“Sir Percival of the House Weasley, Your Majesty.” The soldier said, hesitating as he spoke his family name, as though Arthur would berate him for his family’s past. It is true, Arthur supposed, that having a former Light Lord whom Arthur had personally annihilated in battle, in your family tree was not always best in conversation, but Arthur took what he could get at such a late hour. Besides, the Weasley family was so large, this Sir Percival is most likely from a different branch.

“Don’t worry, brave knight. We do not hold innocent people accountable for the actions of their family. If that were true, the actions of Morgana would have condemned Us as well.” Arthur knew, as a fundamental human failure, Sir Percival must have faced an extreme backlash against the actions of his relative, Lord Antaeus, who tried to eradicate the existence of Magical Creatures in an attempt to protect the lives of innocent Muggles, mistakenly killed by a rogue Wraith of Death, known as a Dementor. Antaeus had manipulated the Magics naturally installed in forests and tried to trap the Magical Creatures within. Merlin, alerted to the vast amount of Magic being used in Albion, had immediately notified Arthur. Arthur had defeated Antaeus and saved the lives of the Magical Creatures. It was one of his first interactions with other Magical Races and helped fortify and strengthen every interaction since then.

Sir Percival looked upward, only for a glance, but saw understanding in the eyes of King Arthur. His shoulders relaxed, his ginger head dipped forward for a minute before lifting upward as his body returned to its original position.

Arthur stared out at the storm thundering around them. Magic protected the King against the effects of the fierce weather, so it was with a steady gaze outward Arthur said, “In truth, my knight, We are tired. It has only been nigh twenty years since Our Coronation, but Magic is already whispering to me at night about the future.”

Surprised, Percival exclaimed, “The future, Your Majesty?”

Arthur could understand the surprise. Not many knew of his powers of divination, even less knew the source. However, Merlin hypothesized the reason. Magic gave humans their power but was unable to act in any direct way in the world. Due to the Magic’s inherent nature, any direct action on Earth could cause a cataclysmic reaction due to the unbalance of nature, and she could not bear the thought of any harm occurring due to her actions. Therefore, to circumvent this law, she sometimes gifts Arthur with prophetic visions. So far, they have been small. Now, these dreams leave Arthur troubled.

“You know how We were chosen to become King, correct?” Arthur inquired. The story had become fabulized due to inherent communication failures over the decades since his coronation.

“I heard from Sir Lancelot a tale of Your Majesty smiting some fantastic beast called a Nundu from the Africas and Magic being so impressed by your strength,” Percival paused here, too, but his Weasley courage pushed him forward, “but as with anything from Lancelot, I took it with a grain of salt.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound building up from deep in his chest until his heart swelled with delight. Lancelot was a dear friend, so hearing this fib did not surprise Arthur, and reminded him of when he was little, and Lancelot would tell him harrowing tales of adventure and danger. He supposed now, having lived some of those very dangers, future children would be told the very same. “As you should, Sir Percival. Lancelot always favored tall tales when we were youths.”

Sighing, Arthur continued, “Magic came to me in a dream when I was only but a boy, seven years after my birth, and spoke to me of my destiny as something more than the son of Uther, of the House Pendragon. Seven years after that dream, when I was a boy on the cusp of manhood, she reappeared to me, and led me to the Stone.”

“Oh! I heard about this. Was it not that your Sword was stuck inside a Stone, and a prophecy stated that those worthy of the Power and Majesty of being King could take the Sword out?”

“Again, close. My father, Uther, was a mage who studied deep and complex magics related to Magic herself. Magic had taken an interest in the House Pendragon before, and so, knowing of my existence before my mother had even given birth, told Uther of the need for a King in the world to act as the mediator between both Dark and Light Magic. She crafted a Sword out of the Essence of a dying star, and Uther weaved an enchantment that prophesized only those worthy of Magic’s Right to Rule would take the Sword out.” Rain slammed against the dome of magic at the top of the castle, and in the distance, a roar of thunder could be heard, the sound like the falling of a forest.

Arthur paused, the weather disturbing his thoughts, before renewing his story, “Uther and my mother, the Lady Igraine, had fallen ill from the Magical Plague. At the moment of his death, my father’s prophecy was enacted, and the Sword and the Stone appeared. The people knew of this wonder because a Ritual site had appeared surrounding the Stone, and only those worthy of heart, along with magic, could enter the site and attempt to pull the Sword out.

“After many years, still no one could wrest the Sword out. From the most powerful magician to the lowliest peasant, to the bravest knight, the Sword remained. The land lamented, for the need of a King was greater than ever, as the factions between Light, Dark, and those remaining neutral grew greater than ever. Both Light and Dark Lords rose in attempts to wield the power of the Sword, and some tried to sway the people away from the prophecy, wanting the Right to Rule for themselves. The land became lawless and ungoverned, and wars broke out. Magic saw this and wept. You see, Sir Percival, Magic loves all of her children, even those born without her power, because she helped make them with Her Brother and knew all of their troubles and problems.”

Sir Percival, although astonished of the depth behind his King’s Power, had to interject, “Wait, wait a moment! Magic has a Brother? Why have we never been told this? I was never taught this in my Religion Classes!”

Arthur could now see his lack of tact was probably genetic, as Antaeus had the same issue, although slightly darker in tone. “People do know about Her Brother, but magicians and those with magic alike mainly worship Her. Those without Magic, for about the last thousand years, have worshipped Her Brother, Yahweh, who helped shape the Earth.”

“But anyway, I was squiring for a brave knight at the time of my fourteenth birthday and learned much in the ways of bravery and chivalry. Sir Godric Gryffindor was his name, and although I had no idea, he was also a magician. He believed me to be mundane, and so never shared his knowledge of magic before that point. There was a tournament being held in the place of his birth, now named Godric’s Hollow due to his acts of heroism during the various wars in Albion. Godric, however, had always been absent-minded with his possessions.” A tone of amusement infused itself into Arthur’s voice, as he remembered the night his life had changed, “He had forgotten his sword, the one made by goblins and forged in the flames of the Last Great Dragon, the daft fool! As his squire, I looked around everywhere for the blasted thing, and yet still could not find it. Eventually, I went to every door in the Hallow, asking for a spare weapon that might suffice for the rest of the tournament and not cause Sir Godric any more shame.”

“After a whole day of looking for a weapon, I had noticed the Sword in the Stone that sat in the middle of the town square. I knew that I had magic, so I could at least try and pull it out, but I had also known braver knights before I could not even move the blade an inch, so my hopes were not high.” A silence overcame the night, as though the weather realized the climax of the story had begun to unfold. “I rushed to the Sword, and with both of my skinny hands took a great heave and lifted it straight into the air. Overcome with excitement and prideful in my work, the consequences of my actions had not settled upon my mind. Once I reached the tournament and showed the sword to Sir Godric, I realized the implications. Godric had recognized the sword as well, and looking upon my face, asked ‘Did you pull the Sword out of the Stone, Arthur?’ Timidly, I nodded, and at once Godric pulled me out into the middle of the arena, announced my actions, and before I knew it the entire tournament was on bended knee before me.”

Percival had listened to the entire story, gasping at the right moments and holding his breath in anticipation and wonder. Percival saw neither pride nor excitement on the face of Arthur, which looked set upon the expression of deep worry, his brow edging ever further upon his forehead, his mouth set downward, his eyes only looking out into the flood around the castle.

“After being proclaimed King, advisors from all sides of the wars came to Our side. Our most trusted, those of the Round Table, were hand-picked from different noble houses and those who proved themselves worthy, no matter the magical affiliation. Our Advisors were supposed to act as a mediator between Us and the people, bringing forward issues and addressing Our concerns. Merlin and Morgana came to Us first, and still to this day, as happily wedded as they are, they are Our most trusted friends. But one of our Advisors, the wizard Mordred, of House Mortimer, conspired against Us. However, his magical power alone, although powerful, did not stand a chance against the combined might of Myself, Merlin and Morgana. We thought Mordred vanquished.”

At this thought, Arthur turned his head, still heavily weighed down by duty and authority, and looked directly into Percival’s eyes. Percival swore he could see power emanating straight from Arthur’s emerald irises, golden streams weaving between the green and shining with an unnatural intensity. “But I see now that my successor in the future will face an evil far greater than Mordred ever was. They will need every power, as well as the help from all of Our subjects, both magical and mundane to overcome this foe. I worry, Sir Percival, that due to the inherent human nature, our descendants will be unable to set down their differences and my heir will have to focus on those issues, instead of defending Humanity and Life itself.”

Percival did not fully understand the implications of Arthur’s musings and visions. However, he did recognize that Arthur needed to be brought out of this wallowing and needed his worries soothed. With this thought, Percival took his sword from his belt, laid it on the ground before Arthur’s feet, and knelt again.

“I, Sir Percival of the House Weasley, solemnly swear to obey and follow the Future Magical King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and all other Magical Realms Known and Unknown. My House and my line will advise and protect the King with their dying breath, and may their last words act in accordance with His Will. My line shall never raise a sword or wand against those of the King, or Magic shall smite them where they stand. With this vow, so mote it be.”

“So mote it be.”

Magic grew between the two men, and with a great flash of white that illuminated the storm around the castle, a pact was formed between the two men. Arthur clasped Percival on the shoulder and raised him up as a brother. The maelstrom around the castle lessened as the two stood on the parapet until the wind caressed the castle like a mother comforting a scared child.

Arthur’s last vision, the dream he witnessed before coming out onto the walls of Camelot, swam before his eyes. A child laying beneath a layer of rubble. The body of a woman with crimson hair was nearby, obviously still trying to protect the child even in death. Horrendous screams of pain and fear ripped through the air, the house surrounding the child falling down and crashing into other rubble. A giant man, with black beard and hair and kind, crinkling eyes entered the nursery, cast a singular cry at the sight of the woman, and scooped up the child in one big palm. It was not until the giant was half-way through his flight, on the bike borrowed from Sirius Black, did the child cease his wails and fall asleep, his head still aching from the lightning bolt scar placed upon his forehead.


	2. Chapter 1

_I was born into this world as the king of truth for the salvation of the world—Buddha_

July 31, 1980

St. Mungos Hospital has been the premier Magical Hospital in all of Wizarding Britain for centuries. Healers and Nurses trained relentlessly to perfection, always trying their best to help the patients and ease their suffering. Founded by Mungo Bunham, a wizard in the 17th century, it is hidden from Muggle view behind a department store, a building large enough to blend in with the other skyscrapers in London as well as innocuous enough to escape suspicion. The hospital is home to a variety of cures for various Magical and Muggle Illnesses (although those are only applied to Muggles in the case of families of Muggleborns, and after a severe number of Galleons being exchanged) and is currently working toward the common goal of any medical practitioner: easing pain and prolonging life.

Often, the lime green robes of Healers will be racing across the floor, without heed for the people in the way, and the Nurses will be admonishing the Healers for their acts that could endanger the lives of the patients. One of the strictest floors in terms of hospital policy is that of the sixth floor, where newborn babes will be birthed, checked over by Healers and Nurses, and then finally given back to the parents.

Fundamentally, at the core of the Magical World, the population has always been small relative to the Muggle population. With over seven billion Muggles alive in the world, the exponential increase due to the Industrial and Agricultural Revolutions in Europe and the Americas did not affect the Magical world in the same manner, mainly because they had magic to act in the same way machinery and agricultural methods worked for Muggles. The main reason why the Magical World remained sedentary in their population growth is due to pureblood inbreeding. Out of the thousands of pureblood families, over half of them had multiple miscarriages before producing one heir. Siblings are rare in the wizarding world, and the only known family blessed with an abundance of children is the Weasley family. No matter the amount of vitriol spewed at Muggle science, cross-breeding between closely related persons restricts the number of children able to be conceived, as well as limits magical ability. Squibs have skyrocketed in population since in-breeding became popular. Therefore, the birth of a magically viable and healthy baby is celebrated within St. Mungos, as with each birth more power and there is a greater chance of finding the future King. 

On this night, Nurse Osborne had taken care of three newborn girls, each of whom screamed themselves hoarse over unchanged diapers, empty stomachs, and simply because they had felt the need to belt their emotions. Sometimes, Nurse Osborne envied the babes for their freedom of emotional expression. Being born a muggleborn, Molly Osborne had to fight for every opportunity to become a Nurse; in Hogwarts, although Hufflepuff is the most accepting and kind of the four Houses, prejudice followed her throughout her academic career. Purebloods had the advantage in job placement, as family name and blood status are often put ahead of academic prowess and work ethic.

Molly was the exception to the rule, as her dedication to helping patients caught the eye of Chief Healer Cassandra Black, and who took her under her wing and taught her secrets of the hospital. Cassie Black also had the art of Divination, so perhaps she could see the potential within Molly as a Healer. So far, Molly had been content with her Nurse internship, as it allowed her to begin working one-on-one with patients and become acclimated to the fast-paced environment, especially on the Sixth Floor.

Molly finally finished taking care of the babies when it was nearing dinnertime, was at the Nurses station in the middle of the floor wiping down the remaining vomit from her hands using a strong cleaning potion when the first scream echoed across the hall.

Looking at the room number where the yell originated from, Molly picked up her wand and hurried to the room. Inside, a woman lying on the hospital bed had clearly just awoken after falling asleep in-between contractions. Her husband, a man whose shaggy black hair stuck up into the air defiantly, also appeared to have just woken from his wife’s shout, if his skewed glasses and slightly drowsy brown eyes were any indication. His hand was currently clasped tightly by his wife, whose fingernails were digging trenches into his skin. Molly assessed the situation, and immediately acted according to the guidelines she was first taught in Nurse training.

Molly pulled out her wand and spoke, “ _Expecto patronum_ ”

A silver dove shot out of the end of her wand, carrying a silver olive branch in its beak and sailed around the room once before zipping off to find the Healer assigned to the patient. Molly turned to the patient and cast several diagnostic spells as the woman began to rant in her agony.

“James Fleamont Potter, I swear to God if you ever get me pregnant I will personally murder you. I mean it, James. Remember what I did to you in fourth year when you first asked me out? That will feel like heaven on Earth! Heaven on Earth, James, compared to what I will do to you if you EVER get me pregnant again!”

“Lily, my love, my darling, my little flower, you’re going to cut off circulation to my arm. Come on sweetie, I’m right here, I’m not going to leave you, deep breaths love.” The husband chanted in concert with his wife’s screams. His assurances did not seem to assuage Lily’s pain, as her rants became evermore violent as the contractions continued.

Molly acted as a witness to this verbal bout, feeling like an outsider to the surprisingly tender, emotional moment occurring between the couple as they brought their newest family member into the world. It was not until Healer Black entered the room did Molly’s trance break and she immediately reported the findings from her diagnostic spells, “Patient’s name is Lily Potter nee Evans, her husband is James Fleamont Potter, Lord of the House of Potter, member of the King’s Council, Head Auror in the Ministry of Magic. Lady Potter’s water broke at approximately 8:30 this morning, and contractions have been irregular but steadily gaining in regularity and strength as the day has worn on. Patient notes indicate pain traveling from the lower back, but shifting toward the front abdomen--”

Healer Black stopped Molly before she could finish. “That’s enough, Nurse Osborne. I don’t need any more information. I know these two rather intimately. After all, we purebloods are all family.” Cassiopeia’s dark hair was tied backward in an intricate ponytail, tumbling down her lime green robes. Her stormy gray eyes, most of the time cloudy with various visions, were now crystal clear and focused on her objective. Out of any pureblood family, the Blacks firmly believe in the sanctity of all magical life, and after having seen so many deaths during the past few wars, Cassiopeia always performed her best when bringing a new life into the world.

James appeared conflicted for a minute at the sight of Cassiopeia before his face cleared and his eyes were hard in determination. “Lady Black, I did not know you worked as a Healer.”

Healer Black shot James a troubled look. “In St. Mungos, its Healer Black to you Lord Potter. Besides, I couldn’t let anyone help give birth to my own nephew. Fleamont was the brother of my brother-in-law Charlus, so your child _will_ be a part of the Black family.”

James seemed stopped himself from yelling, but only just. “Lily and mine’s child will always be a Potter first, Cassiopeia. Sirius will be their godfather. He will treat them like _he_ should have been treated; with love and not hatred, with acceptance and not abandonment.” At that word, James turned toward his wife, whose screams had ceased for squeezing James’s hand harder.

Cassiopeia did not continue the conversation, instead beginning the enchantments designed to protect the child from the surrounding magical energy and signature in the room. Newly born babes are often sensitive to magic, and thus can become overstimulated if not protected from the magical signatures in the room immediately after birth. These enchantments also allow the child to immediately identify the magical signature of their parents, similar to how children can determine the heartbeats of their parents. It is a simple, innate sense of family, of certainty and affection between magical cores recognizing each other. Cassiopeia can attest to the wonder of parents finally being able to see the magical core of the child they created together and the sheer love that filled the room in those first few moments.

As the contractions continued, visitors came into the room. Sirius Black, James’s best friend and future godfather to his son, performed a double take at Healer Black’s presence before approaching Lily’s other side, clutching her hand and joining James’s chants with his own.

“Come on Lils, just think about it. Actual proof you guys slept together! I thought James had just been lying this whole time! You never know with this cheeky bloke.” Sirius received a hit to the shoulder and a scolding from Lily for this. “Merlin’s beard Lils! I was just kidding! Besides, I think Sirius Jr. would be more appropriate, eh Prongs?” Another smack to Sirius’s head, but Lily could have sworn through the pain Sirius’s jokes must have gotten through to her babe, as the contractions lessened in intensity.

Soon after, Remus Lupin, shabby hair and tattered clothes in all, hesitatingly joined the trio in the hospital room, his brown jacket tucked under his arms. Upon sight of him, Lily exclaimed, “Remus! Finally, someone with some sense of dignity! Please, collect your fellow Marauders before I commit an act of murder.”

As the trio was about to leave, Lily grabbed James’s hand, tugged him forward with what little energy she had, crashed his lips onto hers, and pushed him away, saying, “One last good memory, James, before our nights are filled with baby cries and diapers.”

However, as James could see her excitement at being a mother practically shining through her hospital gown, illuminating the room with a heavenly light. Lily had been irritable throughout her pregnancy (hormones, she said, but James suspected she exaggerated the effects just so she could boss him around. James didn’t understand why, because he would have done anything for her anyway) but the one constant through the nine months had been her excitement in having a child to dote upon, dress up, and love with all her heart. James had been an only child, so he knew how protective and loving parents could be to their children. His parents, Fleamont and Euphemia had given birth to him at an old age, so they lavished James with all their praise and affection (Lily would jokingly say too much). But he knew, deep in his heart, that both himself and Lily would do everything in their power to ensure their child grew up protected and loved.

The night lingered, with the fourth member of the Marauders, Peter Pettigrew, dropping in before scurrying off to alert the Ministry about James and Sirius’s leave of absence. As a former Pages in the Household of the King, and now Lords of the Wizengamot and members of the King’s Council, their absence will be noticed.

That was how the four Marauders met, in fact, at training to become Pages in the Household of the King. Remus attended because he was training with the Master of the Horse in taking care of the Royal Kennels, and Peter had been training to join the Ecclesiastical Household (his mother was a devoutly religious person, and although Peter often stated he was not, he always went to church every Sunday with his mother). Although no Magical King had been in power in almost a thousand years, the upkeep of the Household was often used in training pureblooded and half-blooded wizards in the customs and culture behind the Wizarding world. It helped build up a fundamental difference between the Wizarding world and the Muggle World and enforced the bias against the Muggle population. But another outcome of this practice is the early intermingling of pureblood and half-blood children, and friendships are easily built upon the experiences in their training days.

Sirius, James, and Remus were all anxiously waiting in the uncomfortable chairs outside the doorway when the conversation careened from the birth of the child to current events. James was looking for anything to distract him from the screams echoing through the wall. “Moony, how’s that job Dumbledore’s got you been going for you?”

Remus glanced upward from the stale coffee cooling in between his hands before speaking. “It’s been fine Prongs. Nothing to be excited over.”

Sirius grabbed the distraction with both hands. “Have you told them yet?”

Remus snorted, “Told them what? Hey boss, every month I turn into a blood-thirsty, dangerous monster so could I get paid leave for the day after? It’s a menial job at a bookstore, Padfoot. Any muggleborn on the street can do it, and they certainly aren’t half as dangerous as me.” Glumly, Remus’s stare settled on the generic swirls and fleur-de-lis around the coffee cup.

James instinctually jumped into action at the self-degradation. Him and Sirius had been trying since their youth to prove to Remus his importance and value in their friendship, but sometimes when they lose contact for a while, such as now, Remus can fall back into old habits and James and Sirius must work twice as hard to pull him back out.

“Moony, if they can’t accept you because of your furry little problem, then they don’t deserve the amazing person we’ve gotten to know. Besides, you know you already have a job as acting Uncle to our little Prongslet.” James emphasized the last part, trying to remind Remus of their family ties already made, and the ones being made at that very moment.

Remus fell silent for a moment, overcome with gratitude. Sirius tackled Remus into his chair, and planted himself firmly on Remus’ lap before opening his arms and exclaiming, “Now you Prongs! Come on, come to mama.” Exaggeratedly waving his arms, Sirius looked equally ridiculous and childish, but James could do nothing but laugh and join in the hug.

The trio separated and tried to regain their former compositions. The familiar air of friendship sang sweetly in the waiting room of St. Mungos. Conversation resumed and switched tracks to the eternal bane of polite conversation: politics.

James, whose job as Head Auror often meant cozying up with other high-ranked officials and Department Heads, complained the most between the three. His Gryffindorish attitude put him at odds with a majority of other influential politicians within the Ministry, most of whom were childhood rivals from Slytherin. Sirius, from a higher breeding and thus more likely to understand James’s plight, vehemently announced all politicians as ‘dirty buggers who don’t know a wand from a broomstick’ and that they should ‘pull the wand from their arses.’ However, nowadays, a new group occupied James’s attention as Head Auror instead of political backstabbing and bootlicking.

The topic centered around a secretive group called the Death Eaters. Their leader, whose name the Aurors have only recently come to know as Lord Voldemort, is highly charismatic to his followers, who obey his words as law. Auror intelligence indicates their rhetoric to follow the normal pureblood agenda: minimize or eradicate the interactions between Muggles and Wizards, eliminate any Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, and enhance the advantages for the wealthy pureblood families even more. However, in a change from past ideas, Lord Voldemort preaches the inclusion of Muggleborns into Wizarding culture completely, and their alienation from their Muggle families. The ideas have remained relatively low-key, only reaching the most discriminatory of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. James has alerted most of the Auror force of this new faction, although no illegal acts have been able to be traced to them yet.

Sirius was James’s Deputy Head Auror and was leading the charge in finding out the members of the Death Eaters and the identity of Lord Voldemort. His family being the leader of the Dark Faction of the King’s Council, Sirius had intricate knowledge behind the workings of factions like the Death Eaters. The House of Black taught their heirs Dark magic and its uses from an early age. Sirius, until leaving his family’s townhouse in London on his sixteenth birthday, had been taught directly from his grandfather Arcturus Black the intricacies and uses of Dark magic. Sirius wanted to prove his worth to the other Aurors for his promotion as Deputy, and he pursued these members ferociously. James suspected Sirius’s motives, but due to the pregnancy and his other duties as Lord Potter and Head Auror, not to mention the King’s Council, he had not been able to assure Sirius about his worth on the team.

During the middle of their discussion behind possible leaders (Sirius hypothesized Isaac Burke, distant relative of the Burke who opened the Dark artefacts shop in Knockturn Alley, but had not been able to locate the man since his disappearance after working at his relative’s shop in the mid 1950s) they were so entrenched that none of the trio noticed the slick shadow moving across the wall.

Indecipherable as to its shape, the shadow seemed to block out all light that shone upon it. Swiftly, the shadow hugged the plaster, slipping underneath talking portraits and behind statues to evade any detection. It was not until the shadow reached the doorway of Lily Potter’s room did his routine break. Light shone through the crack in the doorway, and screams that once were alone in their solitude had been joined with “Push! For Merlin’s sake woman, you _must_ push if you want the blasted child out!”

The shade hesitated a moment before slinking off further down the hallway. Crisscrossing hallways, the shade finally escaped the hospital through the Department Store opening used for normal daily traffic. Outside, the shade appeared from the window etched into the wall of a brick building in the middle of London.

The air around London was balmy, dense with the next coming storm. People walking down the street, ignorant of the existence of the magical hospital mere steps away, were clutching their t-shirts as breeze shot down the road. The hot weather in July usually allowed Londoners to dismiss their jackets and wear as little clothing as politely allowed. It seemed, however, that persistent blasts of cold air always traversed the streets of London, as though reprimanding the people for believing the cold weather could ever actually change. These frigid gusts are the result of various shadows traveling and spying on various persons, both Magical and Muggle.

The shadow who had witnessed the waiting room at St. Mungos Sixth Floor that night had finally reached its destination, scattering newspapers throughout the dark back alley when it entered. A figure dressed in a dark trench-coat slinked forward out of the darkness and approached the shadow. Footsteps echoed between the brick building until silence ensued when the two figures met up. The trench-coat clad held out his hand, clothed in a dark leather glove, holding a stone chalice. Inscriptions circled the rim of the ancient cup, and an unearthly light illuminated the face of the man for a moment before the light dimmed.

“ _O Oriens, te voco, ad quod fidelis servus tuus. Notitiam tuam opem fero in aeternum semper_.” The person chanted in Latin and the chalice brightened once again, this time deep crimson. A dark liquid begins to fill the cup, beginning at the center of the cup and slowly filling it completely. Upon closer inspection, the liquid is blood and the smell of iron begins the permeate the air in the alley. An alley cat, hiding underneath newspapers, raced away from the scene.

The shadow jumped from the wall and broke the top of the layer of blood as it flew into the chalice. Gravity seemed to stall, and a deep and slothful presence filled the alley. The air seemed to stop, particles of dust and dirt halted in their never-ending dance, as a deep voice answered the figure, unintelligible to anyone but the servant.

“My Lord, He has come, like you said He would. His birth is in only a few minutes. What do you wish me to do?”

The voice responded back, hard in its anger. The servant’s posture tightened in fear, and his shoulders heaved deeply in anxiety.

 “My Lord, it just is not plausible in ending the life of the King before his ascension. That would throw the entire balance of the world into complete chaos. The King _must_ be born, and He _must_ be crowned at the right time. That natural laws have been in place since the founding of the Monarchy.”

The voice was now clipped.

“Yes, My Lord. Your orders have been carried out. Lord Voldemort is now at the forefront of those disgusting wizard policemen. We have so far remained unnoticed. I still can’t believe you have me working with these unnatural creatures.” The air tightened noticeably around the figure, threatening the figure once again. “Of course! Of course! I should never question your orders!”

The voice, now laced with amusement, rumbled throughout the alleyway, still indecipherable to anyone but the servant.

“The plans have been put into motion. Don’t worry, our estimated time in breaking the Secret Keeper should be in line with your plans. Lily and James Potter will die before reaching their son’s second birthday.”

 

As the night progressed, nature itself seemed to change. The air lightened, warming up to the point that partygoers who once wanted to leave, now adamantly began to dance and celebrate for an innate magical sense built into their psyche. Wizards and witches performing rituals and enchantments would find them lasting far longer than expected, as the magic utilized for the spell was enhanced. Natural magic spread across the globe, creating an atmosphere of happiness and joy.

In the sky, stars aligned themselves around Earth. They danced in the sky, signing praises throughout the galaxies, and the natural music of the universe came to its climax when at exactly midnight.

At exactly midnight, Harry James Potter was born into the world. Born Magical King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and His other Realms Known and Unknown, Defender of Avalon, Defender of the Faith, Conduit of Magic, Head of the Commonwealth, Harry was surrounded by his family. He slept in the arms of his father, was fed in the arms of his mother, and laughed in the arms of his godfather and uncle. Magic presided over all of this, and it was good.

Early dawn the next morning, the politicians from the Wizengamot, Heads of other Departments within the Ministry, and personal friends of the family began to pop into St. Mungos Hospital. However, the most important of all the visits was the visit of the Minister for Magic Tom Marvolo Riddle, clutching the tiny hand of Harry James Potter, and smiling down at the babe.


End file.
